Good Grief! It's Nine O'Clock!

I Know Where The Day Went -
     - but what about the evening?
     Oh yes.  Stuck in the eighth circle of Hell - that's the one where you have nothing but trouble with Public Service Vehicles.  Add rain, wind and low temperatures - "chilly" is not an adjective you expect to hear of Hell, but it and the wind and the rain are peculiarly appropriate to Greater Manchester - and the evening begins - poorly.

Also calling at Hades, Styx and all Seven Circles

     Then comes the shopping.  Oddly enough this is more bearable in the early evening than during early afternoon - when aged and infirm pensioners flock to block (the aisles) and Conrad feels like giving them a sock with a rock - since most people have better things to do than check the ingredients list on a packet of Kimchii soup.
     Then one has to put the shopping away.  A chore, yet leaving everything in a huge pile on the kitchen table is not recommended.  The cats would sleep on it, for a start.
     Finally comes booting up the PC and scanning what has happened in the world today.  First order of business - making sure some nosey human astronomer hasn't accidentally discovered my scout ship, hidden in -
     - ah but that would be telling!

Argan Oil - More Like AAAARGH!AN Oil
     Conrad usually takes his breakfast in the kitchen at work, dipping his stale bread in a cup of hot Marmite, before getting down to some serious keyboard inputting.

Number 1) Dip it in a cup of hot Marmite

     Today he was the uninvited audience for a - what's the collective noun for a group of chit-chatting women? A busy - a busy of women, one of whom was bewailing the state of her hair.  She had, it seems, dosed her hair with a deadly chemical concoction called "Argan Oil", using a whole handful.  Apparently, judging from the startled comments of her peers, a pea-sized amount would be plenty.  The unfortunate lady in question then had two showers but still failed to remove all the Argan* from her hair, and would have had a third shower if time had permitted.  Another lady commented on her Argan-amount accident, that gave her hair a lacquered appearance after being showered and dried.
     Conrad heartily, if silently, gave thanks that he is old enough not to worry about the state of his hair.

Danger!  Dangerous Chemical loose in the Mansion's bathroom!

With ingredients like these, I  could take over the world!  O wait that's my plan anyway ...

Diphenyl Methane Diisocyanate
     No, this can't really be described as a dangerous chemical (Boo!).  Not unless you bond your fingers to your face.
     It has just been used to fill screwholes in a wall cupboard in one of the Mansion's cupboards; it is a variety of extremely strong industrial-strength glue, though it sounds like the world's worst poison gas.
     Not entirely wide of the mark there - " - cyanate" means that the substance contains cyanide, and manufacturers of the compound (a.k.a. MDI) are all members of the International Isocyanate Institute**, a body established to make sure isocyanates are treated with the respect they deserve.

Glue.  A bit dull, really.  Unless you spill TONS OF IT!

A Chance Conversation
     Overheard by Conrad as he strode purposefully towards the bus-stop:

" - they do piercings with a bar -" 

     As you are aware, the rigidly-stratified civilisation on the iceworld Ceti Alpha Six that Conrad hails from decries all forms of adornment, so Conrad has never quite got his head around Hom. Saps. willingness to variously tint, bifurcate, enmesh and impale their bodies.  I mean, if it were giant mechanical claws, or multi-barrel machine guns, or subcutaneous armour, then there would be a point.  But a small metal stud?
     Conrad is also a colossal coward and the mere image of being pierced by a bar -even sterile and wielded by a trained practitioner - gives him the billy crins.

Pierced by a bar, impaled by a stake, all much the same ...

Decauville Railway
     Mentioned several times in "The History Of The Guards Division In The Great War", Conrad hasn't heard the name before.  The term didn't seem to apply to a normal railway, as the Decauville appeared to run close to the front lines.  You can't carry out a major civil engineering project like railway construction if, at any second, a clutch of 4.2" HE shells are liable to land on your head or your tracks.

Behold, a Titan-ette of the tracks

     A quick Google brought a rapid explanation.  The "Decauville" was a miniature railway system, much smaller in rail-width than normal railways; it could thus be built much quicker, cheaper and closer to the trenches than a conventional railway.  Despite being comparatively small, it could still haul a considerable weight of supplies - say 50 tons, and would be able to do so even if the weather was bad, when wheeled or horse transport would find it incredibly difficult to move at all.
     There you go.  Logistics on the Western Front.  Which happens to be a book, actually, that Conrad would quite like, except you can't get it for less than £70.

Modern re-enactors with a - no, hang on -

Anna's Run
     Today those intrepid runners Anna and Georgina Pavlou are en route to Edinburgh in preparation for the Marathon.  A night on the tiles tonight, hangover and recovery and sightseeing tomorrow, the run on Sunday, a weary and footsore travel back to Manchester on Monday.
     I've tried pleading, threats, guilt and now - matter-of-factness!
     Anna and Georgina are running the Edinburgh Marathon.
     They are doing it for The Dog's Trust, who are opening a new site in Manchester.
     They've already run a practice, so by Sunday they will have done over 100 miles.
     
     The URL for their donations page: http://www.justgiving.com/edinburghmarathon2014

* Not to be confused with "Argon", the halogen.
** I.I.I. - doubtless the butt of endless jokes from other chemists.  Say it out loud!